


Clean

by Finally_Home



Series: based on songs [6]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Memories, One Shot, Reflection, Song: clean (Taylor Swift), descriptive, i hope it did, i wanted it to read smoothly, inspired by clean: taylor swift, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finally_Home/pseuds/Finally_Home
Summary: They both learn to let go.
Relationships: Jung Yunho/Shim Changmin
Series: based on songs [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755427
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Clean

**Author's Note:**

> [Taylor Swift - Clean](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tii5cv7DzpQ)

_The rain came pouring down_

Don’t lose to the rain! Yunho yelled, practically sprinting onto the stage, face a mask of glee as the water trickled down his cheeks and washed away his makeup. He was beautiful, hair flopping down onto his forehead despite the thick layer of gel that was supposed to be waterproof. Come on, Changmin, let’s do this!

What Yunho wanted, Yunho got, and that day was no exception. He won in the end, laughing himself breathless as rain soaked him to the bone, throwing his arms out and tilting his head back, revelling in the screams coming from the audience. A crown of spotlights, a robe of lightsticks. Jung Yunho won against the rain.

This is the only thing that Changmin remembers from that particular SMTown concert. He doesn’t remember anything else—not the outfits, not the performances, not the manager’s lectures—hell, he can barely even remember what year it was, just that it was early. 2011, maybe, or 2012, back when they were still fighting.

It’s not like they don’t still fight, but back then, it was different. Back then, it happened often, words sharp and actions harsh. He remembers getting shoved into the practice room mirror, glass smooth and cold through his shirt. He remembers retaliating, grabbing Yunho’s collar and slamming him against the wall, blood roaring in his ears.

His own heart pounded wildly in his chest, and below his fingers, underneath burning skin, Yunho’s pulse beat out the tempo of their new title song—strong, fast, desperate, and all Changmin had left.

When their lips met for the first time, he remembers it was soft. Soft despite the anger and bitterness, despite years of pent-up frustration and hesitation and fear, and Yunho snaked an arm around his waist, held him close and let his own warmth bleed into Changmin’s cold skin and when they finally broke apart for air, he said, “We can’t.”

But they did anyway, and they did it for years, fighting and arguing and making up in a clash of lips, teeth, and legs. In the dorm in Korea, the air sticky with humidity and the sounds of strained moans. In the apartment in Japan, the crushing weight of being alone in a foreign country staved off by the slow kisses shared in a narrow single-person bed. Later, on Changmin’s marble-tiled floor, over Yunho’s perpetually-messy desk, in the shower, on the countertop, rushed in the dressing rooms, languid during breaks, anywhere, everywhere.

Yunho dated girls, too, during this time. On and off, always with the excuse that ‘whatever we have is just temporary, Changdol, you know this.’ Many a time, Changmin remembers unlocking the door and hearing a breathy giggle from the inner bedroom, then the comforting rumble of Yunho’s voice in response, glowing with affection and drowsiness, the kind of love that he reserved only for Changmin during their regular trysts.

Or so he thought, apparently.

_When I was drowning, that’s when I could finally breathe_

It was a mistake from the beginning, Yunho knows now. Changmin was no longer the chubby-faced innocent-eyed little Bambi who clung to his shirt during interviews. He had fire in his eyes instead, facing him in the practice room as an equal, long limbs moving strong and sharp with the beat of their new song. Gentle, still, he thought, too gentle for our songs, too gentle for us, for the world.

 _For me_.

Maybe he’d known since the start, that they wouldn’t—couldn’t—work out, and simply refused to admit it. They were both, Yunho knew, too similar, people who hid their feelings so deep and so well that no one but themselves could ever hope to understand. But, at the same time, they were also much too different, night and day, sun and moon, fire and water.

Water and oil, perhaps, would be the term he’d choose, understanding each other on a superficial level but never able to reach farther underneath, rejecting each other’s advances and attempts, never agreeing until it truly mattered.

He remembers once, during a routine checkup, when Changmin suddenly clutched his hand tight at the mention of a blood test. He was baffled; it wasn’t as if he’d never done one before, and he’d never shrunk at the sight of the thick silver needle all the other times they’d needed his blood.

But he frowned, remnants of childish anger on his face even though he was far from being a child anymore, and only gripped Yunho’s hand tighter. No words, though none were needed, and Yunho let him hide his face in the softness of his sweater, hand never straying from around his shoulders. When the ordeal was over, he thought, for a fleeting second, that Changmin might have been smiling.

Golden. That’s the word he’d use to describe Changmin. That’s also the word he’d use to describe the relationship. Love fades, he reads often in his motivational books, but that’s not true. Theirs never did, not even now, years later, when everything’s done and over. It still lingers in his heart and around his house, staining the walls with the sunrise glow of his just-awoken smile. Golden ichor leaks out from between the panels of his wooden floor, and he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. Doesn’t particularly want to get rid of it.

He’s stained, however much he hates to admit it, because at one point, he refused to. What were sharp jawlines to a soft cheek? What were angular joints to soft thighs? What was a hasty, suffocated grunt to a lazy, desperate moan? What was a fuckbuddy-bandmate to a pretty stranger in the club?

Yunho once thought he knew himself. He once thought he had it figured out, but when he found the spare key to his house lying on his kitchen table one day, Changmin’s muted lavender cologne still lingering in the air, he knew at once, with a dreadful certainty in the pit of his stomach, that he never had.

And now, he never would.

_When the butterflies turned to dust, they covered my whole room_

If Changmin had the choice, he’d delete every single one of those fan videos on the internet. The ten-second clip of them holding hands during Your Present. The pictures of Yunho reaching for his hand at the airport, and him shying away after making eye contact with the camera. The white day event where he made a fool of himself trying to persuade Yunho to be less mad at him, whatever the petty reason was that day.

The interview where Yunho promised they’d have two weddings, a big one with everyone, and a small one just for friends and family.

Changmin’s wedding turns out to be fairly small. Highly-private, invitations extended only to the closest of friends: the SM seniors and juniors, staff and managers throughout the years, select people from his extended family, friends who stuck with him through the years.

And Yunho.

It’d been hard, planning such a big event with a comeback around the corner, but Yunho only smiled with his eyes and told him not to worry about it, that it’d be fine since they were stuck in Korea for the time being anyway.

The lie was so blatant in the way the corners of his mouth twitched and fell flat, but did Changmin have a right to point out those details anymore? Could he look into Yunho’s eyes, dark and bright and soulless at once, and thank him for always being there for TVXQ, for himself? Would he be able to convince himself that everything would be fine, that they would be fine, that their history would remain history for the rest of their lives, a smoldering pile of ashes burning through his heart, a string knotted and balled up in all the wrong places?

He stayed too silent for too long, and the nothingness dragged on into eons, with Yunho’s all-knowing gaze piercing through the thick coat and cashmere sweater and white undershirt, striking into his heart the knowledge that they both should have accepted at the very beginning. Thick silence separated them into a bubble universe of their own— _I think_ , Yunho had once said, _that there can be multiple infinities within larger infinities_ —and finally Changmin cleared his throat.

He had a life outside of TVXQ now.

But he couldn’t say it, couldn’t say the words rushing up in his chest and into his throat and making his heart pound wildly, not right then in the blank white hallway, not in the flower-filled room with Yunho taking a million pictures to send to his own family, not even at the altar, with Yunho standing by his right-hand side with the biggest proudest saddest smile he’d ever seen, one that screamed _don’t leave, say it and don’t leave, stay with me for the rest of time_.

Instead, he swallowed down their history, took his wife by her slender, pretty hands—such a contrast from the rough skin and thick knuckles that he’d held for the past however-many years—and said, _I do_.

Like magic, the music swelled and confetti rained down upon them. Once a common sight, nowadays not so much, and tears flowed freely down his face as he took her into his arms and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to her rose-colored lips—soft, but not as soft as ones he’d first tasted nine years ago—and then looked up.

Yunho was crying too.

_And by morning, gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean_

**Author's Note:**

> CONGRATS CHANGMIN!!!!!! (this is in NO WAY SHAPE OR FORM meant to diss him and his wife i hope they're happy for the rest of life and i hope yunho finds someone like that too!!)
> 
> having not written tvxq in, oh, a HOT while (also having been on writer's block for liiiiteral months), i decided to come back and finish this piece of shit that i started during the summer and never fucking finished-- 
> 
> life updates: i'm now a sophomore in college (as always, if you are into physics please please contact me i do need help) and i have taken my first class in creative writing! it's great but it saps my creative energy since everything i have now goes into it instead of side projects like this. 
> 
> side note! if yall are able/willing to, please go vote for [my story for this contest](https://short-edition.com/en/story/short-fiction/remembrance-of-the-bright-moon) (you can do so through december 3rd i believe) because i really put a lot of time and effort into it and it would mean a lot to me! thanks in advance if anyone does! (you do have to make an account on the website, or sign in with facebook if that's easier)
> 
> anyway i've gotten into nct (specifically wayv) as well have gotten an extra ambition to advance my original works so while i will always have a soft spot for tvxq, i will definitely not be writing as much for them anymore. also it seems everything coming out of my mind nowadays is angst and i don't particularly like to write too much angst.
> 
> (that's a lie too)


End file.
